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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278181">Changes Much, Changes Little</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondTheClouds777/pseuds/BeyondTheClouds777'>BeyondTheClouds777</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Family Bonding, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Much Comfort, Neither are prominent or detailed but I wanted to put the warnings there just in case, POV Iroh (Avatar), Sick Zuko (Avatar), Sickfic, TW: Canonical Character Injury, TW: Emetophobia, Through the Years, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), heavy on the comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:00:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,854</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondTheClouds777/pseuds/BeyondTheClouds777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If there’s any way Iroh can help ease his nephew's burden, he’ll take it. If there isn’t a way, he’ll make one. It's not like he hasn't done so before. And if it's for Zuko, there's very little Iroh wouldn't do.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iroh &amp; Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>486</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Changes Much, Changes Little</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Uncle?”</p><p>His bedroom door creaks open and Iroh sits up, recognizing the voice and rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Zuko?”</p><p>The child patters over, small footsteps tentative against the hardwood. “I—I’m sorry to wake you—”</p><p>"No, it's alright." Something is amiss in the boy's voice. Iroh doesn't like it at all. "What's wrong, Nephew?"</p><p>Zuko sniffs, scrubbing his eyes with his knuckles. "I-I don't feel well."</p><p>It kickstarts an instinct that was born with Lu Ten, and the leftover remnants of sleep are gone the moment the boy is through speaking. Eyes adjusted to the darkness, he takes in his nephew again with this new knowledge, and doesn’t know how he could have missed it before. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are fevered and his breathing is just a touch too labored. It's that time of year again; it was only a matter of time before the boy caught what all the other children were catching. Zuko is a shy child, he always has been, but the way he holds himself now is like he’s expecting to be hit, and Iroh’s heart aches.</p><p>"Oh, Zuko…"</p><p>"Please don't be upset," Zuko pleads. The hitch in his voice is worse now, and so is his breathing. "I-I didn't mean to, honest I didn't, I just—"</p><p>"No, no no no, I'm not upset." Iroh casts the blanket aside and opens his arms. "Come here, Nephew. It's alright."</p><p>There’s no further hesitation before Zuko sprints across the room and dives into Iroh's arms—not that there should have been any hesitation to begin with for an ill child seeking comfort. Iroh bundles him in blankets and tucks him close to his chest, and the heat of a nasty fever seeps into Iroh's skin as Zuko clings to him and trembles. </p><p>"It's no wonder you don't feel well," Iroh murmurs, gently cupping the back of his head and ignoring the sweat that’s gathered near the base of his skull. "That's quite the fever you have there, Nephew."</p><p>Zuko sniffs again, burrowing into Iroh's chest as close as he can. "M'sorry."</p><p>"Don't apologize for being sick, you can't help it," Iroh says, smoothing Zuko's hair back out of his face and suppressing a hiss when his hand passes over his forehead. He’s downplaying it for Zuko’s sake, but he doesn’t like this fever at all.  "If anything, I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner. How long have you been feeling ill?"</p><p>A chill rattles Zuko's small, thin frame; Iroh runs his hand up and down the child's back in constant but gentle motions.</p><p>"S-Since dinner last night." Zuko's voice is no more than a croak, and he sounds afraid. "I'm sorry, I know I should have said something but I thought I'd get over it on my own and I didn't want to—"</p><p>"Shh," Iroh soothes, enveloping him further. Zuko shudders and sinks into him, his tiny fists grasping at fistfuls of Iroh's tunic. "You should have said something, but I understand why you thought that you couldn't. We can talk about it more when you're feeling a little better—for now, I want you to know that you never have to be afraid of coming to me if you're unwell, or for any other reason. I want to know, and I want to help you."</p><p>Zuko sobs. Iroh smooths back his hair one more time. </p><p>"Now, let's see if we can't do something about that fever."</p><hr/><p>Zuko has not had a moment’s peace or a moment’s rest in well over a week. The healers were worried on day one; the crew begins to worry on day three, when their captain (and crowned prince up until now) doesn’t emerge from his quarters; Iroh was worried the moment it happened because he understood fire, and he understood his brother, and Zuko is thirteen.</p><p>On good days Zuko can stomach thin broth and whatever painkillers the healers can force on him. But on bad days he lies tossing and turning, caught in a tortuous delirium of uncertainty, memories and, what has to be worst of all, the pain. Infection spread through the wound quickly and now Zuko’s body is wrought with it, and Iroh had hoped he would never feel this kind of fear again, the last of which he felt in Ba Sing Se as a General, moments before the unspeakable took his world away from him.</p><p>He will not lose another son.</p><p>“It’s going to be alright, Nephew.” Is it a lie? It’s hard to tell. Anything could be a lie these days and Iroh would be none the wiser. “Keep fighting. It’s going to be alright.”</p><p>It’s harder to tell if Zuko even hears him, whether or not his eyes are open. Iroh presses another cool, damp cloth to Zuko’s forehead, trying to hold Zuko’s gaze instead of focusing on the bandages encasing the left half of his face. (The boy is thirteen. The boy is <em> thirteen, </em>and Iroh has seen kinder injuries on soldiers, less fear in the eyes of those who Death held by the throat.)</p><p>“Uncle?” Hoarse from night terrors and wrecked with sickness and infection and fever, Zuko’s voice crackles, and Iroh can’t even hold his tears at bay, not anymore. “Uncle, why…” </p><p>“Rest,” Iroh whispers, taking Zuko’s hand in one of his (his hands are so <em> small, he’s </em>so small, how could he let this happen?). Zuko’s fingers twist into Iroh’s in an uncomfortable, too-tight grip but all Iroh does is squeeze back gently. “I’m here, I won’t let anything hurt you. Rest.”</p><p>“Hurts.”</p><p>“I know, I know.”</p><p>“Father…?”</p><p>Iroh doesn’t want to lie to him, but he’s sick, and the fever has him in hysterics, and the last time Zuko remembered the circumstances that led to the injury, the healers had to put him under so he wouldn’t hurt himself. And Iroh can’t put Zuko through that again. He can’t put either of them through that again.</p><p>“We’ll talk about it,” Iroh promises, flattening his palm over the cloth on Zuko’s forehead. “We’ll talk about it after you’ve rested. You need to take it easy for now and let your body heal you.”</p><p>Zuko’s eye fills with tears (the other, covered in bandages—the healers aren’t even sure that he’ll retain his sight in it, or if the infection will rise to such a height they’ll have to gouge it), and Iroh can’t tell if they’re tears of frustration, tears of pain or tears because he already knows what Iroh is so desperately trying to avoid saying. Either way, Iroh catches the tears with his thumb and wipes them from his face.</p><p>“T-Talk… later?” Zuko’s voice is hoarse.</p><p>Iroh nods and gives the boy’s small, trembling hand another gentle squeeze. “Talk later.”</p><p>“Talk later…” Zuko dips into sleep, fitful and restless, and Iroh doesn’t leave his side or let go of his hand, not even when the healers return to change the bandages or when Zuko’s unconscious terrors make him lash out in his sleep. Iroh looked away from Zuko once; he will not turn away again.</p><hr/><p>Iroh wakes up with a pit in his gut that says something is wrong.</p><p>It’s a feeling that he’s had before, on scarier days in scarier times, and it’s a feeling he hoped he would never feel again. Nothing good ever came from this feeling. He isn’t even sure what to call this feeling, whether it’s a war general’s instinct or a father’s. Whatever it is, it jolts him to awareness as though he’d been slapped, and his eyes have already scanned and assessed the room before he realized he’d sat up.</p><p>There’s nothing in his room. No one. The emptiness coupled with the sinking, growing feeling of dread is worse than if he’d woken to a knife to his throat.</p><p>His mind leaps to Zuko—the assassination attempts, how close they've become these past several weeks, how they've had far too many close calls, how paranoid it's made the poor kid, all of that. Iroh runs like he'd never run before in his life. Down dark, eerily silent hallways, around corners expecting to be attacked at each bend, through doors, all the way to Zuko's chambers. That instinctual gut something worsens and he swings wide the door.</p><p>It's dark, and quiet, and aside from his nephew, empty.</p><p>Iroh's lungs drain and he staggers into the door, clutching at the knob to maintain balance. Zuko is fine, everything is fine. Perhaps he'd had a nightmare and simply couldn't recall it, that would explain why he awoke in such a state. At least he didn't wake Zuko. With all the stress the poor boy's been under lately, he needs as much rest as he can get.</p><p>As Iroh is turning away, Zuko coughs. Thick, deep, wet coughs. And that sinking feeling is back, but this time it makes sense. Iroh steps into the room again, pulling the door shut silently behind him before he makes his way to his nephew's bedside.</p><p>Without hardly having to look, Iroh can tell he has a fever. His cheeks are flushed and his breaths come labored, a hoarse wheeze hugging the edges of each inhale-exhale, and he's clutching the blankets just a bit too tightly given the time of year and temperature of the room.</p><p>Iroh withholds a small sigh and settles on the edge of the bed beside him, reaching out until he can rest his hand on Zuko's head.</p><p>“Zuko, Nephew, wake up for a moment.”</p><p>“Hnng…” Zuko scrunches up his face before blinking, squinting blearily up at Iroh with confused, glassy eyes. Iroh strokes back his hair until awareness sinks in. “Uncle…? What’re you—” Coughs wrack him and he buries them in fistfuls of blankets, shoulders trembling and heaving around it. Iroh wraps his hand around Zuko's knuckles to ground him.</p><p>“Here, sit up, sit up. Don't smother yourself.” Iroh helps him upright, keeping the blanket around his shoulders and rubbing his back until the fit finally leaves him. Zuko croaks out a small thank-you around the breathless panting and Iroh just shakes his head.</p><p>"Nevermind thanking me, Zuko. How long have you been sick?”</p><p>“N-Not… Not long.” Iroh presses a hand to his forehead to test his temperature (it’s high) and doesn't miss how Zuko shudders and leans into the touch. “I woke up coughing a little while ago, thought I'd… try sleeping it off and get some medicine in the morning if I needed it."</p><p>Iroh smooths his hair back and tries not to dwell on just how high his fever is and how much it concerns him. "Well," Iroh says, "I'm no doctor, but I think you would benefit from taking medicine now instead."</p><p>"Don't wanna wake up the healers." Zuko coughs twice into his elbow. "They'll be asleep this time of—"</p><p>It would seem those two coughs were simply a warning of worse things to come, because Zuko is plagued by a fit that has him doubling over, hacking and coughing into his elbow while his back heaves. Iroh panics just a little—the coughs are deep, he's struggling to breathe, the fit hasn't lessened—but holds it together enough to brace Zuko through it.</p><p>"Breathe, Zuko, breathe," Iroh coaxes, running a hand between his shoulder blades. "Easy."</p><p>Zuko gags, and Iroh barely reaches the garbage bin in time for Zuko to choke up whatever muck had been in his throat. After that, Zuko just hangs his head over the bin gasping, his hands splayed on the mattress white-knuckled as Iroh massages his shoulders.</p><p>"There, there we go," Iroh soothes. "Breathe."</p><p>"Unc—Uncle—"</p><p>"Shh, no." Iroh squeezes one of his shoulders. "Catch your breath, Zuko. Breathe." The boy has a meeting scheduled for tomorrow; Iroh makes a mental note to cancel just as soon as the sun is up. "It sounds like it's settled in your chest, whatever this is."</p><p>"J'st a cold." Zuko flattens a hand against his forehead, still struggling for air. "M'fine."</p><p>"Zuko." Iroh takes the boy's shoulder to steady him. "I know you don't want to worry anyone, and I know the meeting tomorrow is important to you, but this isn't just a cold. You need to rest."</p><p>Zuko's head snaps up. "But, I—I'm the Fire Lord—"</p><p>"You are human first," Iroh says. "Rest. You would have anyone else do the same."</p><p>There's more he can add to that—the fact that Zuko is only seventeen, and not only one of the youngest Fire Lords in this nation's history, but the only Fire Lord that's led the nation following a war that lasted a hundred years. There's a lot of baggage there; Iroh wouldn't be surprised if this illness turned out to be the result of Zuko's body making him slow down.</p><p>Zuko sighs tiredly, defeated, and Iroh rests a hand on his head. "For now, let's see if we can't bring down your fever. Wait here."</p><p>Zuko nods, swiping at his eyes while Iroh rises to his feet. He makes it quick, finding Zuko staring dazedly at his hands upon return. Iroh's eyes have adjusted fully now, enough that he can easily find the exhaustion in the lines on Zuko's face, the glaze in his vibrant eyes and the way his shoulders curl inward as though to hide himself.</p><p>Iroh settles the basin of water to the side table and reaches out to grasp Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko turns and blinks as though noticing him for the first time.</p><p>“Nephew,” Iroh says, “you should rest.”</p><p>“But—” Zuko has to stop, folding in on himself and hacking into his elbow again. Iroh traces circles into his back until he straightens up. “There’s—I have—”</p><p>“Zuko, listen to me.” Iroh leaves the washcloth in the basin to soak and settles down beside Zuko again, this time taking both the boy’s hands in his own. Zuko’s fingers are warm and clammy and the hazines in his eyes is harder to dismiss. “I know how you feel about this. I know you’re strong, I know you’re independent, I know you want to take care of things all by yourself, but you don’t have to. There are so many people in this world who love you and would do anything for you. Let me carry some of this for you. Please.”</p><p>Zuko wants to argue, he can tell, but there’s no room for argument amid the exhaustion in his gaze and the dazed way he takes in Iroh’s words. He sighs—a long sigh, and a heavy one, with a rasped wheeze along the edge—and beneath Iroh’s hands, his fingers clench and unclench.</p><p>“Just for as long as it takes for me to recover,” Zuko says. “And if something important comes up, I want to know.”</p><p>That isn’t unreasonable. Iroh nods. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko allows Iroh to tend to him throughout the night—though he tries to assure Iroh that it isn’t necessary, whenever he’s awake enough to acknowledge Iroh’s presence and speak. It’s the same every time: <em> “You don’t have to stay, I’m sure you’re tired, you can’t—” “Nephew. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Rest.” </em>And Zuko listens, too tired to put up much fight beyond that, as Iroh refreshes the cool cloth on his forehead and smooths his hair back.</p><p>He is glad Zuko trusts him, as much as he is glad that Zuko is allowing himself to be cared for. That was always a sticking point with Zuko, a conflict between wanting someone to lean on but so very afraid of being a burden (of course Iroh assures him otherwise). But it’s hard to see him in pain, especially in times like these, when there is so little Iroh can do to ease it. </p><p>So he does what he can. He monitors and tends to Zuko’s fever until it finally loosens its grip on him and allows him to sleep, and the coughing fits let up enough that he can breathe just a little easier, and only when he’s certain the boy is sound asleep does Iroh deliver a note informing tomorrow’s guests that Zuko is unwell and unable to attend. Then he returns to Zuko’s side, this time to stay, and can’t help but fuss over him a little, making sure the blankets are tucked around him properly, checking his fever, smoothing his unruly hair off his face. Sleep softens Zuko, reminds Iroh of just how young he is and how unfair and unkind life has been. It’s good that Zuko is able to rest, though the circumstance isn’t optimal.</p><p>Iroh makes a mental note to ensure Zuko’s schedule this week gives him plenty of room to recover, plus some leeway beyond that. It isn’t often Zuko allows himself moments of weakness--no, not weakness, <em> humanity. </em>It isn’t often Zuko allows himself to be human, and to take breaks, and to rest.</p><p>If there’s any way Iroh can help ease his nephew's burden, he’ll take it. If there isn’t a way, he’ll make one. It's not like he hasn't done so before. And if it's for Zuko, there's very little Iroh wouldn't do.</p>
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